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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27735025">Safe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pridecookies/pseuds/pridecookies'>pridecookies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mages (Dragon Age), sometimes I just need them to kiss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:40:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,027</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27735025</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pridecookies/pseuds/pridecookies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke has a bad dream about Fenris.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age), Fenris/Male Hawke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Safe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Eyes open. Dark, save for the warm golden glow of the fire. Malcolm woke up in a cold sweat, sitting up statically in his bed. He brushed back his hair, matted and tangled and messy, and took slow, methodical breaths to steady his breathing. He was shaking, his once steady hands were quivering but the thick cloak of sleep still hung on him. With great effort, he calmed his raging heartbeat and pushed the blankets off of him and kicked his legs over to dangle on the side of the bed. He needed to fixate on something real, tangible, safe. The firelight offered a solution. His breath was still uneven and shallow in places and his fists were clenched tightly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Focus</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed beneath him was solid and steady. He could feel the cold in the wood of the floor against the pads of his feet. The faint chill the air left on his skin from the cooled sweat was real enough. Resting his face in his hands, he buckled over and tried to force the faces from his dreams out with his fingers. But it didn’t work. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He doesn’t belong to you, Hawke. You lost this little game. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm didn’t need to know what Danarius looked like to hate him, to fear him, to be undone by the thought of him. It didn’t matter that years had gone by without a word from the magister, the terror hung on Fenris and it was a garment he shared with Malcolm whether he wanted to or not. That’s what happens when you love people, you slip them on and whatever heartache they’re wearing is yours now.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I came for my property.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was paralyzed and immobile in the dream and he watched Danarius, a dark shape and shadow, take Fenris away. It was a dream, he knew it was a dream. But it didn’t matter. Malcolm wanted to heave and vomit it out onto the floor. The fear was making him sick and he couldn’t stand it. He needed to know he was safe. He needed to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quickly, he grabbed one of the house robes that was hanging on the side of his desk and slipped it over bare skin, bending down and scooping up the first pair of shoes he saw as he sprinted out the door, onto the landing, down the stairs, out the front. The night was cold and he knew he should have put something warmer on but he doubted he could escape the chill of his terror anyway. Hightown was quiet and still but his heart was violently beating in his head, a drum that urged him forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thump.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Fenris was probably still sleeping.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thump.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Danarius wouldn’t have known where to find him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thump. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s safe, he must be. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thump.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Maker.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What if he isn’t? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>At that thought, Malcolm burst into a full sprint, running so fast that he worried he would rip muscles apart. It didn’t matter, he would limp in agony on broken bones for Fenris and he knew it. When he saw the mansion in Hightown, his lungs were close to bursting. Fire ripped through his chest and he felt the chill of night air beneath the house ropes he had grabbed. He banged on the door with more force than was necessary and called out into the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fenris! Open the door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He banged on it again, with that same unnecessary force. It wasn’t something he was used to, pushing too hard. He often stepped back and allowed the world to shape itself. But not this. Not this feeling, not this love. He held this in his hands and tried desperately to mold it to a shape he could carry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fenris!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elf opened the door, his eyes lazy and thick with interrupted sleep. No shoes, just bedclothes. White hair messy and flat on one side from the pressure of his pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Malc</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he started and was cut off immediately by the mage pulling him into his arms and weaving his fingers in strands of white, forcing him against his chest and breathing deeply. Fenris was stiff at first, tense and unsure. Then, slowly and with some effort, he eased into the mage’s hold and wrapped his arms around his waist. Malcolm relaxed, but squeezed tighter. They stayed like that for awhile, Malcolm burying his face in white hair, blinded by it, burdened by it. Desperate for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a bad dream,” he said very softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s over now,” Fenris whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he said, allowing his lungs more air and releasing him, though still holding onto his face. He held it there for a moment, his eyes grazing over the details he had come to let play behind his eyes when he closed them. The elf stared back at him, his expression shifting between a guarded resistance and giving in. Malcolm’s hands, so capable of destruction, were holding this thing marked by magic in the worst possible way, and all he wanted to do was protect it. Heal it. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t just the blood magic that made that impossible. Maker, he wanted to keep him safe. Fenris swallowed and looked down, the tender proximity clearly starting to undo him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I am a poor gamble, Malcolm,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, “I am still</span>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Malcolm breathed, letting a thumb rest on his lips as his hands cradled the elf’s jaw, “I’ve taken lesser bets by lesser men,” he leaned in, his eyes asking permission and Fenris giving it. “So this should actually be fun,” he grinned against his lips and kissed him with a tender frailty he had come to expect in himself around Fenris. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t something they did often, he could count the kisses on one hand. Months of quiet conversations in the dark, heated arguments, poorly timed flirations, and relentless affection had earned him very little. Sometimes, he allowed him to touch him. Sometimes. Rarely. It was precious when he did. It reminded him of the stolen moments of mages in the Circle, love that should never have been denied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought broke him. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just want them to be happy and they can't because my son is a fucking blood mage. I hate myself.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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